


living in every pore

by apaio



Series: all my energy [3]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, First Time Bottoming, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Rough Sex, separate occasions lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-04 15:45:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17900942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apaio/pseuds/apaio
Summary: “Do you think I could top sometime?” he asks into the dead of the room.Brian pushes himself up onto his elbows to look at him. “What?”





	living in every pore

**Author's Note:**

> hey! this is probably. the end of this series i guess? thanks for the response on these, i really appreciate it! i'm sorry i'm so bad at responding to comments this isn't my main account lmao
> 
> anyway, warnings for some pretty solid internalised homophobia and one slur, period typical attitudes etc i guess. unbeta'd, lmk if anything is glaringly obvious

When John asks, it’s late and there’s a funny sort of feeling in the air like the summer night isn’t quite real. Brian’s sprawled out on the bed, thin duvet twisted between his thighs to protect his modesty and John smokes a post-coital fag out of the window. He’s got Brian’s dressing gown on, though it’s hardly done up and turning around would expose anyone in view of the window to his entirety. It’s a good job it’s pushing one in the morning and no one is out there to see.

“Do you think I could top sometime?” he asks into the dead of the room.

Brian pushes himself up onto his elbows to look at him. “What?”

“Would you let me?”

Brian looks unsure, and John feels unsure in response.

“You can say no,” he adds, and Brian lies back down. John reaches his arm out of the window to stub the cigarette out on the stone window ledge.

“No,” he says.

John returns to the bed and lies in silence for a moment. “Have you actually thought about it, or are you just saying no on principle?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, and when he does, it isn’t an answer. “Good night, John,” he says, rolling over.

They’ve been doing this for a couple of months now, and it is more or less the same each time. Not that John’s complaining per se, but he would like to switch it up a bit, try it around the other way.

John knows that Brian’s never slept with a man before, he’s known that since it all started. Perhaps that’s why he doesn’t seem too keen on the idea of switching positions; the whole fact that it’s not quite so different from being with a woman if he’s always giving rather than receiving. They both grew up in a time where what they’re doing right now was illegal. Perhaps, he thinks, Brian is having issues with that.

John understands, but it doesn’t mean he thinks it’s fair. He wonders absent-mindedly whether Brian would prefer it if he were a woman.

He sighs into the darkness of the room and closes his eyes.

*

The thought plays on his mind for the next couple of weeks, nagging at the back of his brain. John doesn’t ask again – he doesn’t want to pressure Brian into anything – but he starts to notice little things. How Brian always seems unsure stretching him as opposed to fucking him, how his hands roam John’s chest like he’s searching for something that isn’t there, how he always flips them or shifts them onto their sides if John’s the one on top of him.

Maybe he’s overthinking it.

Maybe, though, he thinks as he watches some pretty young thing twist her finger in Brian’s curls at the bar and he doesn’t stop her, he’s right.

It’s after some local gig, in some local bar, and it’s no place particularly out of the ordinary. John’s sat drinking some obnoxious cocktail Freddie brought him, chewing the straw inattentively as he watches a woman about his age approach Brian where he stands at the bar. She’s shapely and walks with an interesting kind of confidence, with thick lips and long eyelashes and hair in curls down to her mid-shoulder. She’s nothing like him, John finds himself thinking and wonders why.

Brian never tended to pick women up in bars. He found them in the corners of lounges or working at their venues or from Roger’s following. He used to turn them away, and John expects that now, but it doesn’t happen.

No, Brian stops trying to make eye-contact with the bartender and starts making eye-contact with her.

John watches them talk for the next fifteen minutes. He watches Brian lean in to listen to her over the music, he watches her place a hand on his arm as he talks and he watches him smile as she does. She hops onto a barstool to get closer to Brian’s height. Something possessive flares in John’s gut.

The finger twiddling his hair in the same way he did that very morning is the final straw. He puts the drink down and leaves the conversation he wasn’t even participating in, taking purposeful steps towards Brian.

Brian has the audacity to look both surprised to see him and completely innocent.

“Can I have a word, Brian?” he asks.

Brian spares a glance towards his _friend_ before looking back to John, something like concern on his face. “Yeah, of course.”

John places a hand on his shoulder and begins to lead him away. He says sorry to the woman, reminding himself that it’s not her fault, after all, and takes Brian to the side of the room.

“John, what are you-”

He considers dragging Brian to the toilets, pushing him against a cubicle door with a kiss, considers dropping to his knees and showing him who he belongs to, but he doesn’t.

“What were you doing?” he asks.

“What?” Brian questions.

“You were flirting.”

“I wasn’t!” he denies. “I was making conversation.”

Brian doesn’t really seem angry at the accusation. He’s placed a hand on John’s waist, and for some reason that riles John up. He’s about to start something, possibly their first major argument of their relationship, but he’s interrupted.

“Hey!” a voice he doesn’t recognise shouts at them.

They both look up to see some man, probably about John’s age, staggering over. He’s drunk, John knows immediately.

“We don’t want any of that here,” he says vaguely.

“What?” Brian questions.

He gestures to where Brian’s hand rests on John’s waist, and the proximity between them. “Fuck off down to Soho if you’re gonna be trying that.”

Brian retracts his hand like he’s been burnt, glancing at John with an alien expression John’s never seen before. It hurts, and John’s no longer angry. Brian begins to move, and for one moment John thinks he’s about to confront the guy, but he doesn’t. He brushes straight past him and strides towards the door.

The guy turns and watches him. “Poof!” he calls.

Once his brain catches up to him, John follows. Brian’s already hailing a cab by the time he gets there, and he stands with him. He wonders if Brian wants him to come with him or get his own taxi, and considers asking, but his question is answered by Brian grabbing his wrist and pulling him into the cab next to him.

The distance between them feels palpable, and the silence hangs in the air like a stench. John wills the journey to be over faster, tapping a nervous rhythm on his thigh as he stares at the raindrops dotted by streetlamps.

When the cab pulls up outside Brian’s, Brian hands over the money without so much as a word. John thanks the cabbie belatedly as he follows Brian out and into his building, which Brian has already unlocked by the time he gets there.

The second they get into Brian’s flat, he’s pushed against the door. Brian kisses him harshly. Something’s wrong.

“Brian,” he gets out as Brian’s teeth scrape down his neck. “What’s the matter?”

Brian doesn’t answer, merely pulling him further into the room.

“Is it about that guy in the pub?”

Again, he gets no response, but he knows he’s right. Some hopeful part of him thinks it might be protectiveness, but he squashes it immediately, knowing it’s wrong.

They end up in the bathroom, and Brian’s working his trousers down, focusing more on sucking at his neck and chest than kissing him.

“Is it because he called you a poof?” John asks.

Brian makes a sound akin to a growl and pushes him against the wall. He doesn’t move when Brian disappears for a moment, and his body’s reacting though his mind is elsewhere. He muffles a groan against the wall when Brian returns and pressed him against it, wetting his lips as he hears the lube bottle open.

“I don’t see why that- _oh_ ,” he says, as Brian rather unceremoniously pushes a finger into him. “I don’t see why that matter that m-much.” He whines when another joins it, and John knows Brian’s rushing. “You’ve been called worse.”

Brian scissors his fingers a few times but doesn’t answer.

“Besides,” he says with a small laugh, “he wasn’t wrong.” It’s a joke, or it’s meant to be, but it makes Brian retracts his fingers and John knows he shouldn’t have said it.

Brian pushes him against the sink, and they both catch sight of themselves in the mirror that hangs above it. John watches a funny look cross Brian’s face, before he’s flipped them both onto the counter on the other side of the bathroom facing a blank wall. He feels his heart sink in his chest. The hard edge of the counter digs into his hips.

He hears the pop of the lube bottle cap behind him, hears the bottle itself dropped to the floor soon after, and then Brian pushes in, hands settled on both of his hips. John rests his forehead against the wood beneath him and moans breathily against it. It condenses beneath his lips.

Brian’s first couple of thrusts are shaky and stuttering, but the force behind them tells John immediately that it won’t be gentle. Still, it takes him by surprise when Brian begins to fuck him in earnest, slamming his hips into the counter below him a few times, hard enough to bruise. John’s hands scrabble to the wall to brace himself and take the pressure off.

Brian’s hands remain resolutely on his hips, neglecting John’s own cock, and John wants nothing more than to touch himself, but it means taking his hands off the wall, so he doesn’t. Brian powers into him and hits his prostate a few times, but with none of his usual effort, like that’s not the purpose of this. It’s not particularly any rougher than they’ve been before, but it feels different.

John finds himself struggling to get out of his head, and though he’s vaguely aware of the embarrassing _ah_ noises he’s making against the counter and everything he’s feeling physically and the slapping of skin, he can’t stop thinking.

He’s thinking about Brian not wanting to see them in the mirror, he’s thinking about the fact his face his pressed against the counter and that he can’t see him, he’s thinking about the fact that Brian’s not touching him, not saying his name. He’s thinking about a woman in his place, whether Brian would prefer her to him. He’s thinking, and it _hurts_.

“Brian, wait,” he says, and it’s so quiet he barely even registers it.

Brian halts immediately, and John’s surprised he even heard. “Hey,” he says softly, carefully, and it melts John’s heart. “What is it?”

“Just give me a sec,” John says, trying to slow his breathing. He wants to continue, wants to be good for the man he loves, but everything is so much. His cock is already quickly losing interest in the situation.

“John?” Brian says, and it’s the first time he’s said his name.

He can’t do this. “I think-” he says shakily, “I think I want to stop.”

“Okay,” Brian replies without question, and pulls out. He helps John up steadily and turns him around so he can rest on the counter. He looks at him gently and places a hand on his cheek, and John doesn’t know what to feel.

“Sorry,” he says.

“You don’t have to apologise,” Brian replies, pressing a kiss to his temple. “It’s alright.”

John wants to ask. He wants to talk, get over their apparent hang-up on actual communication. It’s the only way they’re going to be happy, the only way John’s going to solve the doubt that’s become a permanent fixture in his brain, but he can’t get the words out.

“Go to bed, I’ll be along soon,” Brian tells him gently.

He does. He puts on a t-shirt and boxers and gets into Brian’s bed gingerly, feeling exceptionally tired but knowing that there’s too much anxiety buzzing in his veins to expect sleep to come any time soon. Instead, he stares at the ceiling and drums out a rhythm on his stomach.

Brian appears after a few minutes, dressed similarly, and gets into bed next to him.

“I’m sorry,” he says after he settles.

“Why?” John asks.

He swallows. “I was too rough.”

It’s partially true, but it isn’t the reason they stopped. “We’ve been rough before.”

Brian doesn’t respond to that, and John doesn’t know what to say either.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” Brian says, “but I want to make sure I don’t do it again.”

He takes a deep breath. “Do you have a problem with being gay?”

“I’m not gay,” he replies quickly.

It is, in itself, an answer, but John thinks he should be more specific. “I mean…with fucking a man. With lo- dating a man.”

“No,” Brian denies, “I love being with you. Do you think I don’t?” he sounds hurt at the idea.

It’s not quite an _I love you_ , but something anxious softens inside John at the words, and he rolls over to face Brian. He trails a hand over his chest, tracing patterns as he speaks. “No, Bri, I’m not saying that,” he says quietly. “I just…feel like you do have an issue with it.”

Brian rolls over to face him, soft expression on his face, and John drops his hand to sit flat on the bedsheets between them. “Why?” he asks, no confrontation in his voice.

“That man, tonight. Who called you a poof,” he says, and Brian flinches minutely even _now_ , “that’s why you were angry. But you didn’t take it out on him, you took it out on me.”

Brian’s looking at him with wide eyes like he didn’t really think of it like that, like he’s guilty, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“And there was that woman at the bar, who was pretty much the polar opposite of me, and you seemed so interested,” he bites out, not angrily but struggling to say it. “And…you’re a good shag, Bri,” he says with a false-feeling smile, “but I feel like you’re only really comfortable with things you’d do with women. And I’m not one.”

He looks like he might be about to argue something, and John thinks he knows what.

“This isn’t about…you not wanting to get fucked,” he says to stop Brian from speaking, continuing before he can interrupt. “It’s more about you expecting me to,” he pauses, almost regretting his first use of the term, “get fucked, and not even considering it an option for you.”

Brian doesn’t reply, thoughtful, and John appreciates that he actually seems to be listening.

“If you really don’t want to, Bri, I don’t mind. That’s okay, and I’m not going to ask you to do anything you don’t want to do,” he says gently. “But I think you’re just saying no to it on principle. And I think that because of everything else.”

Brian’s dropped eye contact now, and John feels a bit bad for bringing it up. They did, however, agree weeks ago to fix their communicating, so he continues anyway.

“I wanted to stop tonight because I felt like you wanted me to be someone I’m not. Something I’m not. You didn’t want to see my face, you didn’t touch me, you didn’t say my name,” he tells him.  “It’s alright if you’re struggling. But I want you to talk to me.”

Brian doesn’t speak for a long time, and John think that might be it for now, but he feels Brian interlace their fingers and he looks back up to meet Brian’s eyes. “You’re right. I’m sorry,” he says. “I thought I was over it, but I guess I’m not.”

“It’s alright.” John squeezes his hand. “We’ll work through it together.”

“You’re not my therapist, John.”

“No, I’m your boyfriend,” he says, and he thinks it’s the first time the word’s ever passed either of their lips, and that they’re getting a bit old for it, but Brian tries to hide a smile and John’s glad he said it. “I’ll tell you when you do something I’m not completely comfortable with, and you can try and build up to different things. We’ll muddle through it.”

Brian looks grateful, but not like he’s going to speak again.

John rolls over and untangles their hands before he opens his arm. “Come here,” he offers.

Brian glances to his arm and to his chest, but he doesn’t protest. It’s the opposite to how they usually lie together, his head usually on Brian’s chest, and now John thinks about it he finds it exceptionally strange that Brian might be hung up on even that small a thing. Brian rests his head on his chest, shifting a couple of times to get comfortable as he drapes his arm over John’s torso. John closes his arm around Brian, lacing his hand in his hair.

It doesn’t take long for Brian to fall asleep, and John can both hear and feel his light snoring.

“I love you,” he tells him, knowing he won’t hear.

*

They don’t really talk about it explicitly over the next couple of weeks, but John can tell Brian’s making an effort. He’s less tetchy about touching him, about being underneath him. John gets the second blowjob he’s ever gotten from him, which was much appreciated.

Aside from that, they’re settling into a quiet domesticity that John hasn’t had in years. He stays most nights at Brian’s, with a draw at his, a couple of shirts in his wardrobe, and a toothbrush, and they do a lot of things together. It’s nice, and John loves him in a way he’s not used to. It doesn’t mean he’s told him yet, though. It still feels too big, too serious.

It’s a Tuesday night, they’re kissing, and it feels like it’s leading somewhere but they’re in no rush. They’re on their sides and fully clothed, and Brian has his leg hooked over one of John’s, their knees locking them together. He doesn’t really notice, but his hands work their way down to palm at Brian’s arse, and after a few minutes of simply enjoying the friction between their bodies as they both get increasingly involved, Brian breaks them apart.

He looks nervous, and John is immediately ready to retract his hands.

“You can,” Brian says, like it means anything on its own. It must show on his face, because he quickly rectifies the statement. “Fuck me. I-If you’d like.”

“Are you sure?”

He nods. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking. And I want you to.”

John doesn’t need telling twice. He kisses Brian’s lips quickly before backing off, opening the draw in the bedside table and getting the lube. He puts it on the bed and undresses, watching Brian pull his clothes off too. He looks distinctly more tense than he usually does, but both his blown pupils and hard cock indicate his interest.

Still, John wants to check again. “Sure?”

“Yeah,” he says, and nods. He sits back on the bed, seems to steady himself and looks up with a slight smile. “How do you want me?”

“It might be easier if you’re on all fours,” he tells him. _But I want to see you_ , he wants to say.

“I think I’d prefer to be on my back,” Brian says. “I’d like to see you,” he adds, and John smiles.

“Okay,” he replies, and climbs back onto the bed. “Lie back.”

Brian does, leant up on his elbows so he can keep an eye on him.

John grabs a pillow, taps on Brian’s hips, and says, “Up.” Brian gets what he means and lifts his hips, and he slots the pillow underneath them.

He gently pushes Brian’s legs apart, kneeling between them. It feels a little impersonal to just jump straight in, so he leans over Brian’s body and kisses him again. He wraps a hand around Brian’s cock, relishing in the way he gasps into his mouth as he does so. He twists his hand a couple of times before pulling back, hiding a smile at the disappointed noise Brian makes as he stops.

He grabs the bottle of lube, clicks the cap off it and gets some on his finger. Brian is watching him again with wide eyes.

“If at any time you want to stop, we can,” he says. “And if anything hurts, tell me.”

He can see Brian swallow, and waits for him to nod. When he does, he pushes Brian’s legs up so they’re bent at the knee.

“Okay,” he says, “it’ll feel weird at first.” He doesn’t want to say any more at risk of sounding too awkward. He warms the lube on his finger with his other hand, before he slowly pushes his finger in an inch or so. “Alright?”

“Yeah,” comes Brian’s answer immediately, though his voice sounds a little off.

He pushes his finger in deeper, slowly, until his hand is pressed flush against Brian. Brian still looks slightly uncomfortable, but there’s a flush rising high on his cheeks. John wraps his other hand around Brian’s cock, and moves both his hand and his finger at a similar slow pace.

“ _Oh_ ,” Brian says shakily.

John begins to work in another finger slowly, keeping his hand on Brian’s cock as a means of distraction to the initial discomfort. He slowly works him open, scissoring his fingers a few times before pushing them as deeply as he can before he hooks them forward.

Brian lets out a startled gasp beneath him, looking at him in surprise.

“There are some advantages to this, Brian,” John tells him with a slight smile.

He stretches him slowly and considerately, and though some primal part of him is telling him to get on with it, he pushes it down immediately, ignoring his own straining cock. John thinks he could make Brian come like this, falling apart under his fingers, but that’s for another time.

He retracts his hand, wiping the lube onto the sheets, and Brian opens his eyes to look at him. A slight sheen of sweat has worked its way onto his brow, and he’s breathing deeply like he’s trying to control himself. He watches him with dark eyes as John picks the lube bottle back up.

“Ready?” he asks as he lubes himself up.

Brian nods.

“Verbal confirmation, please, Bri.”

“Y-yeah,” he stumbles hoarsely.

John shifts forward, pushing Brian’s legs slightly further apart. He places a hand on Brian’s thigh and lines up.

“John?” Brian asks.

He freezes. “Yeah?”

“Kiss me,” he says, and it almost sounds like a question.

Something warm blooms in John’s chest, and he leans up over Brian to kiss him tenderly. He starts to back off after a moment, but Brian places a hand in his hair to hold him close like he wants- needs him to stay. John smiles against his lips and rests their foreheads together. When Brian opens his eyes, John searches them for permission. He gets it.

John rests his weight on one arm and drops the other hand between his own legs to help him and pushes in slowly. It’s good. It’s more than good, and the feel of Brian’s heat wrapped so tightly around him makes it very hard for him to not just give in and go for it. He manages though, and kisses the strain off Brian’s face until he’s bottomed out. He waits, like Brian often does for him.

“Okay,” Brian says after a moment, answering the unasked question.

He thrusts carefully, rolling his hips deeply with a hand on Brian’s cock. He wants to ask if Brian’s okay, if it’s good, but before he can Brian lets out a long moan into his mouth. He fucks into him with all the restraint he can muster.

“ _Fuck_ , John,” he gasps, “can you move any faster?”

John nods and picks up the pace. He’s not going flat out like something deep inside of him wants to, but it’s enough to make Brian pant and gasp. He changes angle, almost by accident, and Brian arches beneath him, head thrown back. John knows he’s there, and focuses on hitting that spot right as he mouths at Brian’s exposed throat.

It doesn’t take long for John to feel Brian’s legs start to shake, and he knows he’s close. He can feel heat building in his own gut, and he can hear the litany of curses murmured under his own breath. He feels the scrape of Brian’s blunt fingernails on his back, can taste his name on Brian’s lips, and Brian comes into the space between them with a moan. He fucks him through his orgasm, and he _whines_.

He pulls out before he comes – not the nicest experience for his first time, John thinks, and he hasn’t asked if he was allowed anyway – and spills onto Brian’s stomach.

John wants to flop out immediately, but he thinks he might pass out, so he presses a final kiss to Brian’s lips before he heads to the bathroom to wet a towel. When he comes back, Brian has moved, chest still heaving.

“Was that…okay?” John asks tentatively as he wipes the mess off Brian’s stomach.

Brian opens his eyes to look at him, something like amusement in his eyes. He smiles and wets his lips. “Yeah, it was alright.”

John smiles back, before he leans into the bathroom and throws the towel in the bath. He collapses into bed next to Brian.

Brian turns over to look at him. His hair is a mess, his skin flushed and eyes bright. John wonders if he ever looks this good after getting fucked. Brian’s watching him with an expression akin to wonder on his face, and fondness written into his features, and John knows he has to tell him.

“I love you.”

It’s not him that says it. Brian beats him to it.

John can’t keep the surprise off his face, and can’t hold back a grin. “I love you too,” he says after he’s got his bearings.

Brian smiles toothily, looking like he’s ten years younger, before shuffling in closer to John. He rests his head on John’s shoulder, John’s arm spread out under him.

Sleep comes to them both easily, and John’s last thought before he drops off is that he’s going to have a dead arm by the morning.

He can’t find it within him to care.


End file.
